


words cannot express

by Val_Creative



Series: 28 Days of Femslash February 2019 [19]
Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Blood, Canonical Character Death, F/F, Femslash, Femslash February, Femslash February 2019, Friends to Lovers, Past Relationship(s), Past Violence, Pre-Canon, Romance, Sexual Content, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-10-31 21:43:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17857502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: Ash loses her first soulmate. The girl she had been crushing on since she had been nothing more than a kid. But shesawit happen when they touched hands. And now Eiji touches Ash’s own.





	words cannot express

**Author's Note:**

> We gotta have some angst. I know this series is Angstville but I have FEELINGS about Ash's crush. AND I MADE EVERYBODY GIRLS. BECAUSE. THAT'S WHY. Thanks for reading and any POSITIVE COMMENTS are welcomed! I had " **Vanilla** " for official [Femslash February](https://femslashfeb.tumblr.com/post/182336252301/any-world-any-medium-as-long-as-theres-girl) prompt and also " **Soulmates - Characters Get a Second Soulmate After The First Has Died** " as my next challenge prompt! I think it fit appropriately for this idea dfkjfjdfh

 

*

They say meeting your soulmate is the best and _worst_ thing that can ever happen.

Ash met hers when she was twelve — a wanna-be leader running the tunnels and gutters, loud and defiant and fearing no rival. Stringy, greasy yellow-blonde hair and a permanent look of glaring on Ash's face.

She ran into another girl around her age, literally and physically outside a Manhattan alleyway.

 _Charlotte_.

With one touch on Charlotte's hand gripping onto Ash's wrist, helping her stand up, Ash knew her name and who she was to her and saw — _saw_ — she saw that puddle of dark, liquidy crimson on gravel and knew.

For some reason, it didn't stop Ash from hanging around her.

(Maybe it's just a bad dream.)

Charlotte was loud and defiant too as they grew up, but dressed like a fashion stylist with her teeny, designer purses and beige, cashmere wrap-skirts and asymmetric satin-jacquard midi dresses. She performed as a background dancer for music videos in New York City. Despite being very underaged, the professionals and their agents hiring her would force Charlie to _lie_ to work for a jack-ton of money. But never complained.

She sold herself, but not in the way Ash had been groomed into doing.

Ash thought one day Charlotte would bail on her.

Why would she want to be friends with a skinny, mean gangster who chopped off her hair and who always wore ripped jeans flecked in dried blood?

They couldn't be more opposite.

But Ash liked her. She liked her so much. Charlotte's nasally burst of laughter, and her brown-honey eyes.

High tits. Nude-colored lipstick and eyeshadow. Purple crop-tops that revealed her flawless ebony skin. And all of that ironed-straight, _gorgeous_ red hair that spilled over Charlotte's neck and face.

Red felt perfect. Not bloody, not howling in anger or in violence. Just yearning.

Ash's lips would touch Charlotte's palm and her forearm, breathing in vanilla, warm scent, while they hid out in Charlotte's studio apartment. They were sixteen and helplessly drunk on the _feeling_ of completeness, of affection and bubbly champagne-dreams, kissing, petting between Charlotte's slim, dark brown thighs.

Charlotte, tall and beautiful and defiantly honest, tasted so good. She gushed in swollen-wet heat when Ash licked over her vaginal folds, pressing own with her nose and entire mouth until Ash felt weightless, dizzy.

Dark, liquidy _blood_ on a sidewalk. Another rivaling gang member fled the scene, pocketing his gun.

Ash felt her die, trapped on the opposite end of a city traffic jam, screaming and bawling her eyes out.

Then she felt _nothing_.

Her second soulmate came in the form of a baby-faced Japanese woman. Eiji wore her dark, curly hair in a high ponytail that day in the low-lit, grimy bar. Slacks and loafers. A plain, cotton blouse and a winter jacket.

Their fingers brushed, when an expressionless but curious Ash passed Eiji her gun. For a millisecond.

And Eiji saw — _saw_ — saw it too late. Dark, puddling blood on library steps.

( _Just a bad dream_.)

*


End file.
